Getting Through Tomorrow
by Maria Lynette
Summary: Myrtle's Tom was Tom Riddle. Her Tom was Tom Riddle. She had been involved with Lord Voldemort since Christmas Eve. Hermione felt guilty at the realization, but she couldn't admit to fraternizing with the enemy.
1. The Beginning

Getting Through Tomorrow

Chapter 1: The Beginning

Hogwarts was still and quiet in the hazy glow of dusk. Tom squinted across the snowy field, concentrating on the silhouette of his best friend as she became clear in the distance. He knew that the red and green box just visible between the folds of her winter cloak was the gift that he had asked her not to buy him for Christmas. Turning his back to her, he walked further into the shadows under the stands of the Quidditch pitch and closed himself inside of the warmth of the broom closet. Although he was a child, Tom was not prone to frequent episodes of childishness. He had never been afforded that luxury. While most boys would be excitedly awaiting the sweet girl carrying a surprise gift, he sat patiently on a small stool with crossed legs and folded hands.

As soon as she burst through the door, she presented the gift and cried, "Happy Christmas Eve!"

For the moment, he ignored the pain behind her toothy smile. Regarding her apathetically, he replied, "I told you not to buy me a Christmas gift."

Her smile failed. "But, I didn't. This gift is for Christmas Eve. I'm not giving you anything tomorrow morning."

She and Tom had been inseparable since their first meeting on the Hogwarts Express. She knew him well enough to understand that he was avoiding Christmas simply because it was unfamiliar to him. Like most people, he was afraid of the unknown. He was wary of the possible disappointment of change. He never wanted anyone to see his vulnerability lurking behind his powerful façade that he had been perfecting since his years in the Muggle orphanage. She understood not wanting to appear vulnerable because as a Muggleborn witch, she felt that she needed to prove herself worthy of magic.

She forced the box into his hands. "Just take it, please. I know that you've never gotten a Christmas present before, and I want to be the first to give you one."

"This is ridiculous. I told you not to get me anything, and now I don't have a gift for you."

She sighed. "You can get me two presents next year."

The assurance from her that they would still be friends the following year prompted him to slowly unwrap the gift. The smile gracing his lips when he saw the contents of the box was barely perceptible, but that was enough for the nervous girl watching him to finally exhale. He looked up at the sound.

"Thank you."

"You like it." It wasn't a question. "I was a bit unsure. I almost got a Wizard's Chess set, but . . ."

"No, this is great. I didn't have one, and . . . well, chess is the only thing that Muggles got right, yea?"

With a roll of her eyes, she said, "You're such a Slytherin."

They didn't bother leaving the Quidditch pitch for the rest of the evening. There weren't many students staying for the holidays, but Tom didn't feel like threatening the few Slytherins in the castle with bodily harm should a confrontation happen due to his companion's blood status.

They made good use of the new chess set in silence for about an hour before Tom remembered something from earlier.

"Your eyes were red when you first got here."

As the mood changed in the room, she realized that she was getting cold.

He watched her nervously pace about the room as she renewed the warming charms, and he waited patiently for her response.

"One of the older boys . . . I know I'm not pretty, but . . ."

There was a pregnant pause as she tried to explain to Tom how she was feeling. In truth, there was nothing wrong with her appearance. She was only eleven. Of course she wasn't pretty . . . yet. She was a mousy, skinny, brunette bookworm, but she had the potential to become a sexy librarian in just a few years. Tom didn't see that yet, but he would appreciate her beauty one day. As an eleven-year-old overachiever, Tom was drawn to her intelligence. They were both well read, and they were the top two students in their year. Plus, she was the only worthy opponent he had in the entire school for when he wanted to play his favorite games.

"He said rude and vulgar things . . . and I hexed him, just like you told me to do, but that didn't make me feel powerful."

"Give it time. You'll feel better soon because they'll stop teasing you."

"You really think so?"

"Remember what I told you?"

"When you doubt your power, you give power to your doubt."

"Exactly."

"I'm glad we're friends, Tom"

HG******************LV

"Happy Christmas, Tom!"

His fellow Slytherins shouted holiday greetings to him as they began to fill the common room and put to use their gifts from home. The fact that he was a Parselmouth had gained him much notoriety within Slytherin House. He didn't know if it was respect that kept them cordial towards him, or if it was fear that forced their kindness. He didn't really care as long as they kept sharing their holiday candy with him. He spent most of the morning in their company eating sweets and talking about Quidditch.

By the time they arrived at the Great Hall, most of the children were too enthusiastic about their gifts to enjoy the Christmas feast. Students from all four houses sat at one table and socialized while a choir of elves sang carols. However, Tom quietly enjoyed his meal before excusing himself from the table to go write in his journal. When he began to get bored, he slipped into the library.

She was already there.

"You are just as silly as the rest of the girls."

"Why is that?"

"You are reading a stupid magazine."

"This isn't a magazine. It's a comic book. Boys read them all of the time."

"Well, I don't."

"Well, maybe you should . . . Want to sneak into Hogsmeade tonight? I hear that there's going to be lights and games."

"You think we could get more sweets?"

She giggled and said, "Of course. After all, the village children will be out, so I'm sure Honeydukes has supplied something for the party."

"Let's go."

HG*********************LV

When Tom awoke on Boxing Day, he realized that he had gotten through his first ever Christmas celebration, and he had quite liked it.


	2. The Abduction

Getting Through Tomorrow

Chapter 2: The Abduction

Many years later . . .

Hermione knew that sneaking into Hogsmeade on Christmas Eve was a bad idea, but she didn't see any other choice but to follow Harry and Ron. They wouldn't last two minutes without her, and she secretly wanted to have a bit of fun with the boys as they would only be sixteen once.

She bought two Peppermint Wands at Honeydukes and wondered over to the park bench where Ron and Harry sat listening to a group of carolers singing by an enchanted bonfire. The kaleidoscope of colored flames accompanying the melodious singing charmed visitors and locals alike.

It was the only time of year that the village permitted alcohol to be sold in the streets, and revelers came from all over the Wizarding World to drink traditional magical beverages. Hogsmeade's own famous spirit was Morgana's Spiced Mead, and Ron was fast working on finishing his second round.

Draining the last drop from his cup, he stood up to go buy more. As an afterthought, he turned to Hermione. His initial intention was to ask her if she wanted him to buy her some. The words died in his throat when his eyes locked onto her lips, which were locked onto a Peppermint Wand.

Hermione didn't know how long Ron was watching her before she noticed. However, she had been aware of his lustful stare for the last three minutes. In an attempt to subtly let him know that she knew where his thoughts lie, she slowly slid she candy into her mouth about six inches deep and sucked extra hard on the way back to the top. She made sure that there was an extra loud popping noise when she pulled it out of her mouth. Ron didn't seem to notice, so she started licking it.

His voice was monotone and barely above a whisper when he said, "She doesn't know what she's doing to me."

Ron was just speaking aloud to himself, but as his statement happened to coincide with a break in the music, he managed to capture Harry's amused attention.

Harry snickered when he noted the disbelief and annoyance growing quickly in Hermione's eyes. "Ron, she knows exactly what she's doing. If you had even bothered to look at her eyes for one moment, you would have seen that already. Don't be surprised when she hits you over the head with that giant stick of candy."

As soon as Ron looked up to Hermione, she cried, "Unbelievable, Ron. The fact that I'm enjoying my favorite holiday candy is the catalyst for your oral sex fantasies. I know we're teenagers, but really? You were in a trance for ten minutes!"

"Honestly, Hermione! Why must you exaggerate? It couldn't have been more than five."

"You are right . . . because you wouldn't last more than three!"

A few of the people closest to them were beginning to notice the argument, so Harry put his hand on each of their shoulders. They both looked at him in embarrassment and smiled. Before Harry could say anything, it started snowing.

"Happy Christmas, Ron . . . Hermione."

They answered him at the same time. "Happy Christmas, Harry."

Hermione turned to Ron and gave him a Peppermint Wand. "Happy Christmas, Ron."

Ron smiled at her. "Happy Christmas, Hermione. Would you like some mead?"

"No, thank you."

Harry followed Ron to the window of the tavern, and Hermione smiled when two young women approached her best friends and began a conversation. They looked so happy. She wished it would last although she knew that it wouldn't.

Suddenly, she felt a large hand on hers and the tug of Apparation, and she wasn't there anymore.

HG******************************************************LV

Murder, violence, and torture were necessary evils that were integral to the success of Lord Voldemort's rule. Those unfamiliar with him naturally assumed that he enjoyed those things. He shared a reputation for an insatiable bloodlust with several of his fanatical Pureblood followers, including Rodolphus and Bellatrix Lestrange. He valued that reputation, but he didn't live up to it.

It was common knowledge among the Death Eaters that the carnage produced in their raids and revels repulsed him. In fact, the foul stench of blood and other bodily fluids had a far worse effect on their Dark Lord's temper than even Harry Potter. He ordered deaths only when necessary.

Voldemort never actually ordered the torture of prisoners. He ordered his Death Eaters to get the information and the results that he required. They knew that Voldemort could cast the most powerful Cruciatus Curse that any of them had ever seen, so they rarely disappointed their lord. Most of them preferred to use Muggle means of torture. Even though magical torture was more painful than any Muggle weapon, knives and brands looked far more gruesome to the victim and to the observer. That kind of psychological mind-fuck was priceless to the sadistic eccentrics in Voldemort's regime.

He could hear her screaming in the lounge. Clenching his fists and wondering which of his minions dared to bring a prisoner into his private residence, he made his way into the room.

A girl was slumped over in a chair. Blood was trickling through several of her brunette curls and dropping onto his Persian rug. Lucius Malfoy, Severus Snape, and Rabastian Lestrange were in attendance.

In a voice too quiet, Voldemort asked, "Lucius?"

"Yes, my lord?"

"Why is there an unconscious woman in my house bleeding all over a priceless carpet?"

Voldemort's wand was twitching in his hand. The other two Death Eaters stepped a safe distance away from Lucius.

Lucius did not lose any of his confidence when he explained, "This is Hermione Granger . . . Potter's Mudblood. I thought that your rules about keeping the house free from filth would not apply to a prisoner of such notoriety, my lord."

Voldemort's eyes flicked to the girl before settling back on Lucius. "Yes, you were right to bring her to me . . ."

Bellatrix suddenly sashayed into the room. Grabbing a handful of curly hair, the insane witch snatched Hermione's head back and cackled in her ear before licking a drop of blood from above the girl's eye.

Voldemort suppressed the need to vomit while the other men in the room looked on with disinterest. While a completely unhinged female Death Eater was a charming addition to the team, most thought that Bella's antics were getting old.

Lucius offered a clean handkerchief to the Dark Lord while saying, "For fuck's sake, Bella. The adults in the room are attempting to converse. You can play with her when our lord is done."

The Dark Lord quietly excused his followers from his presence and sat in front of the dying fire. There was no need to revive his prisoner. She would come around soon, and he would use his precious time alone to wallow in the memories of Christmas Eves past. The stale air produced by blood, sweat, and fear was difficult to overcome, but the faint fragrance of peppermint was the unexpected avenue for finally sending his mind back to another time and place.


	3. The Weakness

Getting Through Tomorrow

Chapter 3: The Weakness

Hermione felt warmth. She remembered that there was something important happening, but she felt trapped. It was dark.

Voldemort was shaken from his thoughts by her moans. She was still unconscious, but she wasn't at peace. She was still tied tightly to the chair.

She slowly became aware of her stiff back and the soreness in her arms and legs. She then realized that there was some kind of cloth in her mouth. It smelled of sandalwood, and it was rubbing blisters in the corners of her chapped lips. The image of Professor Snape gagging her with his scarf flashed through her mind. That's when she remembered where she was. Too scared to open her eyes, she closed them tighter and swallowed hard.

Voldemort's voice broke the silence. "I know that you are awake, Miss Granger. Where's your Gryffindor courage?"

Her eyelids fluttered open, but she kept her head lowered. She concentrated only on the carpet and the glow of the fire. She knew that he was sitting across from her because the hem of his dark robe was just visible out of the corner of her eye.

Minutes passed, but she still couldn't look at him. She tried to jump when she saw his dark form move closer to her, causing the wooden chair to crush her hand when it fell on its side.

Voldemort sighed and corrected the chair with a wave of his wand. "Hurts, doesn't it? If you had paid attention to your surroundings . . ." He stopped and massaged his scalp as if to ward off a headache. "For being touted as 'the brightest witch of your age' you aren't very intelligent, are you? Don't make any other stupid moves, and you might not have to suffer further."

"As for this . . ." He took her injured hand roughly into his larger one and squeezed it. She screamed and he frowned. "We'll just make sure the pain continues as a reminder of what not to do."

Anger finally got the best of her. Raising her head, she met his crimson eyes.

Holding the stare, she said, "I won't tell you anything."

In her gaze Voldemort could see equal amounts of fear and resolve.

He moved a stool directly in front of her chair and sat in it, brining his face a mere six inches from hers. "You don't have to tell me, Mudblood. I don't know if you've heard anything about me, but I _am_ a great wizard. I can see your memories by simply looking into your eyes."

Her fear escalated, but she still attempted to close her mind. Feeling him push, she pushed back with all of her strength. He was too strong for her and they both knew it. She contemplated jerking her head away, but she decided against that when she thought of the indignity of being cursed into compliance.

Voldemort started looking for memories of Harry. There was one just on the surface of her thoughts. They were in Hogsmeade. He realized that it was a memory from earlier that evening when he glimpsed her exchanging holiday greetings with her friends, so he prodded further.

Hermione continued her weak resistance. All she could do was keep that memory at the front of her mind as long as possible in order to keep him from older, more important memories.

It was not known to Hermione that nostalgia was keeping Voldemort interested in that memory. He was curious to know if Hogsmeade was still the same on Christmas Eve as it had been when he was a boy. He had been pondering his past all night. It was the same with him every year. He knew that he was in control of her mind and that he could do as he pleased, so he did.

He inserted himself so deep into her thoughts that it was as if he was sitting beside her on the park bench while she crunched away at her candy. He could smell the alcohol on the Weasley boy's breath when he turned to speak to her. Perhaps the most important detail was the peppermint.

At the sight of the Peppermint Wand between her fingers, Voldemort began to lose control of Hermione's mind. It had been _her_ favorite candy, too. In an effort to regain his focus, he decided to leave the scene that was unfolding before his eyes. He knew that he had indulged enough in his weakness already. There were more important memories to find. As he attempted to disconnect himself from the memory, a new song began to echo through the streets of the snow-covered village.

Hermione sensed his first moment of wavering concentration, but it passed too quickly for her to act. She waited for another chance. He provided that chance only moments later, and she could tell that the song was upsetting him in some way. Using that to her advantage, she made the song louder in an attempt to push him out of her mind.

His mind was full of singing. It became too much for him to bear, but he still refused to withdraw from Hermione's mind. In consequence, she was seeing all of his memories that were connected to the song. She saw a very young image of him sitting with a girl in Hogsmeade. She saw the same girl singing the song to him a year or two later at Hogwarts. The last image that flashed before her eyes was a couple dancing. Then there was only anger. He managed to stop the flow of memories, but the raw anger at what she had seen consumed his thoughts.

With an outraged roar, Voldemort finally exited Hermione's mind. He sprang to his feet and hurled the stool in her direction. It grazed her hair as it flew past her shoulder and crashed through a window. He then began pacing back and forth in front of the fire. He had to regain control of himself and the situation.

He knew that he'd be a fool to let the girl leave the room alive after seeing some of his most personal memories, but he honestly didn't want to kill her. After spending time in her mind, she reminded him of a Muggle-born girl that he had killed long ago. After her death, he had often desired her company, but was too late.

He suddenly knew that he was done with Hermione for the night. It would be morning before he could trust himself again, and he definitely wasn't going to explain the delay to the Death Eaters waiting somewhere in the house. He didn't want more mistakes, and he didn't want to make a hasty decision to end her life. He was tempted to curse his Death Eaters for bringing her to him on Christmas Eve. They knew that he always spent the day alone. They could have held her in Lucius' dungeon for a few days. He would instead have to get Severus to wipe her memory and take her back to Hogsmeade.

He wasn't doing it for her. He was doing it for himself.

"Myrtle."

Voldemort froze, faced Hermione, and whispered, "What?"

"You were dancing with Myrtle in your memory."

Voldemort snarled and closed the distance between them. He put his hands on the arms of her chair and leaned close to her face. There was more curiosity on his face than anger when he asked, "How do you know Myrtle?"

Hermione was nervous to have him so close to her again. "She haunts the lavatory where you . . . m-murdered her." His silence caused her to babble. "I go there sometimes to read and study. People stay out because of her. She's a bit of a handful, you know? But, I've known her since my second year, so she leaves me alone when I want peace. She also talks to me while I'm brewing . . . or if I need to talk."

When Hermione finished speaking, she realized that Voldemort was staring at her in astonishment. "I didn't know. My Myrtle is a ghost at Hogwarts."

Noting his affection for the other girl, Hermione said, "You murdered her."

"Is that a question, Miss Granger?"

"You loved her?"

Voldemort cupped Hermione's cheek. "You are just as sentimental as she. It's such a shame. You will be a powerful witch when you come of age . . . an intellectual beauty . . . but it will all go to waste."

She blushed deeply at the backhanded compliment. He quickly removed his hand from her cheek, twisted it into her mass of curly hair, and forcefully yanked her head to the side. He found the wound on her head and healed it. "I desired her, Miss Granger. That is all."

"Then why . . ."

"I am the Heir of Slytherin! She was a Mudblood! Like you, she didn't know her place. She was nothing without me."

Voldemort took her hand in his and healed it before calling Severus Snape into the room.

"Severus, I have devised a plan to make Miss Granger more useful to us, but you must wipe her memory of being here and place her back in Hogsmeade with her friends. It's only been a few hours. They are likely too pissed to notice her absence."

Severus gave Hermione a suspicious look. He wondered why his master was lying to him. "Yes, my lord."

Voldemort turned to leave and said, "Don't allow her to speak. I have healed her wounds. Make sure everything else is as it was. Do it quickly."

As soon as Voldemort left the room, Severus activated the Floo and took Hermione with him to Spinner's End.


	4. The Dream

Getting Through Tomorrow

Chapter 4: The Dream

Severus Snape's home was small, cold, and dark. The heavy drapes kept out the glow of the streetlamps from the outside. His house reminded him of the dungeons at Hogwarts, and he preferred it just as it was. He lit the wall sconces as he stepped out of the fireplace with Hermione in tow.

She could just see the tail of a cat fleeing the room, and there was a bowl of milk and a blanket sitting on the floor in one of the corners. There were copious amounts of red fur on the blanket, and she frowned at the thought of not making it home to Crookshanks. The rest of the corners in the room housed extra books and newspapers that didn't fit on the shelves. On any other occasion, Hermione would be excited to behold such a cornucopia of literature. She stood mute and still, but her thoughts continued to run wild over all that was happening to her.

Hermione suppressed a cry when Severus tightened his hold on her small shoulders and guided her to an armchair. She had so many questions in her mind about her brief encounter with Voldemort that she couldn't concentrate.

Severus studied her confused expression for a moment before asking, "Why did you let those two dunderheads talk you into going to Hogsmeade?"

Hermione's mouth moved, but she couldn't find words. Tears of remorse and utter bewilderment began to form in her unfocused eyes. In what looked like an attempt to stifle dizziness, she ran her fingers through her hair and gripped her head.

"Miss Granger! Stop staring into the ether with your mouth hanging open like a mad woman!" He threw up his hands at her lack of response, realizing that shouting would get him nowhere. He lowered his voice and added, "I need you to focus, but I will get you some water and give you a moment to compose yourself."

As Severus placed a glass of water on the table in front of Hermione, she finally found her voice.

She softly said, "I'm so sorry. We just . . . wanted to have a good time while we still could."

Severus paced as he spoke. "I don't think you realize the gravity of your mistake, Miss Granger. Had Bella and Lucius seen Mr. Potter, it would all be over by now. I was able to divert their attention to you just in time, thus saving your friend and sentencing you to certain death." He paused and regarded her with interest. "Yet here you sit. He not only spared your life, but he healed you as well. I have been ordered to remove your memories without viewing them and place you back at the scene of your abduction because the Dark Lord has a plan for you, but therein lies the problem . . . I don't believe that there is a plan. You simply saw something that he doesn't want us to know about . . . and he reacted."

"I saw . . ." Hermione started to explain what had transpired between herself and Voldemort, but Severus abruptly put up his hand, signaling for her to be silent.

With a slow and clipped voice, he explained, "I cannot know what you saw or heard. I already have enough information to hide from the Dark Lord. I cannot take the risk of needlessly adding more. I only need to know one thing. Do you think that the information could help Potter?"

Hermione thought for a moment before answering, "Yes, what I learned tonight could potentially be helpful, if I could make sense of it all. I mean . . . what I found out tonight was important enough to him that he would spare my life, wipe my memory, and hide the truth from his Death Eaters. I'm still confused about why he didn't just kill me."

"I do not know the reasoning behind many of the Dark Lord's peculiar choices, but what you should remember is that the dead can still tell secrets in the Wizarding World."

Hermione nodded and observed Severus. He seemed to be silently plotting.

He removed his wand from his sleeve and explained, "Memory charms are very sophisticated magic, and I need your full cooperation for this to work. I will need you to listen carefully and focus your mind. Can you do it?"

"What is it exactly that I am agreeing to do?"

"I am going to remove your most recent memories as the Dark Lord has ordered me to do, but you must suppress the important memories while bringing the rest of the night's events to the forefront of your mind. I will cast a spell to dissolve those surface memories. You will retain the suppressed memories, but they will not be readily available to you."

The dark professor fascinated Hermione. "Are you saying that the memories will be in my mind, but I won't be able to recall them? How is that possible?"

"I am removing the memories of your abduction and of your return. You must hide from me the events in-between. If this works correctly, you will not even remember this conversation. Your mind will not be able to immediately process the remaining memories without the memories with which they are associated. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I think so. They will be like fragments of memories."

Severus gave her a nod of approval. "Correct. Because I am dipping into the surface of your mind and removing the associated memories, the remaining memories will be pushed into your subconscious mind. Our hope is that you can retrieve them later. You may get a glimpse of them in your dreams. Sights, sounds, or smells may also trigger them. Given your reputation for solving all of Potter's problems for him, I think that you have a fair chance of deciphering the fragments."

Hermione ignored his snide remark about her best friend and reassured him by whispering, "It's a chance worth taking."

Severus kneeled in front of her chair and gently touched his wand to her temple. "There isn't much time. We must begin."

Hermione straightened her posture and folded her hands in her lap. "Yes, Professor. I'm ready."

HG*************************************************************LV

Hermione jumped and let out a feminine squeal when she suddenly felt two sets of hands grasp her arms.

Harry laughed and said, "Relax, Hermione. You fell asleep."

She felt a bit disoriented. She rubbed her temples and looked about the room. She didn't remember walking into a pub from the park. "I fell asleep in the Hogshead?"

Ron laughed at her confusion. "You look worse than me, and you weren't even drinking."

Harry explained, "We got carried away with the celebration, and . . . we're sorry that we lost you."

"It's alright, Harry. I didn't even notice, and I had a good night. I'm just tired. I think it's time for us to sneak back into our beds before anyone realizes what we've done."

HG***************************************************************LV

That very night Hermione dreamed of a classically beautiful boy with dark hair. She saw a dim vision of them together in Hogsmeade before the setting shifted to the two of them playing an enthusiastic game of chess. She was herself, but she was also someone else. She was happy. He was charming.

The dreams persisted throughout the night. She awoke to find emptiness in her soul unlike anything that she had never before felt, but she hurriedly willed herself back into the tantalizing images lurking about her subconscious mind.

Once again, the dreamscape changed. There was a sinister backdrop of masked strangers and wild laughter. The handsome boy had her tied to a chair with crimson velvet and his slender fingers were running through her hair. She moaned at the comforting and arousing sensation. She could see her fear and excitement mirrored in his intense gaze.

Hermione reluctantly opened her eyes to the morning light that was seeping through her window on Christmas. The slightly morbid and completely stimulating dream slipped away more and more as she slowly gained consciousness. The emotions were powerful enough to leave her lying in bed and trying to savor the last remnants of them before she started her day. Most of the visual details were dim, but the red flashing in his eyes as he touched her face was vividly etched into her memory.

She only knew one person rumored to have red eyes, and she wondered if her deepest desires were really that twisted. She didn't know if she could classify the experience as a dream. It seemed to her more like a strangely pleasant nightmare.


	5. The Nightmare

Getting Through Tomorrow

Chapter 5: The Nightmare

Lord Voldemort awoke in the middle of the night in a rage so violent that his raw power rippled through the room like an earthquake, destroying several pieces of furniture along the way. He clenched his fists around his blankets at the sound of breaking glass reverberating off of the walls of stone. It took several moments for him to calm himself. Looking about his bedroom at the chaos surrounding him, he made the decision to find another room in which to relax for the rest of the night. Just looking at the disorder was worsening his headache.

His resurrected body could function on little sleep, but like all living things, he needed some rest. Even though he despised the fact that his sleep was occasionally infested with visions of Myrtle, he expected to see her there. He was used to the sound of her girlish voice and her petite silhouette running through his mind, but he wasn't used to his image of Myrtle suddenly morphing into a dark representation of Hermione Granger.

The worst part of it was that he hadn't even noticed the change at first. He had been helpless against her as if she had used his buried weakness in order to tempt him like some insatiable succubus.

It wasn't until he had seen his own blood staining the glowing white sheets that he had realized that the wild-haired nymph that had been straddling him had also stabbed him with his own wand.

He assumed that his subconscious mind was trying to tell him that the young woman was dangerous and that he shouldn't have let her live, and all he felt was anger at himself for being weak and anger at her for simply being. He soothed his mind by pacing up and down a cold corridor before finding an isolated sitting room complete with a hearth and a brocade chaise in which to settle for the night. Sleep claimed him once again.

HG*****************************************************************LV

It was only the next evening when the nightmare came for a second time. He finally recognized it for what it was. He was in her dreams.

All of the subtle clues were there. The colors were more vivid as was typical for a younger mind. The scenery seemed to breathe like it was alive, which was in contrast to his static backdrops that were often shrouded in fog. Her thoughts were intricate, controlled, and numerous. In short, her mind was magnificent. He was impressed in spite of himself.

Hermione was there, standing in front of Myrtle's dresser and brushing her hair in rhythm with a song on the Muggle radio. A familiar necklace from long ago sat wrapped around her dainty neck. She wore a skin-tight sweater with a high collar and a knee-length skirt. In lieu of stockings, she had on leg make-up just like the American girl in Myrtle's neighborhood used to wear. She turned her inquisitive eyes on him, but he turned and walked out of the room.

He had invaded many a foe's dreams on purpose. He had even used Harry Potter's dreams in order to gain leeway in the war, but he had never been pulled into another person's mind without knowing it. The reason it was always so easy for him to influence Potter's thoughts was because of the odd bond that they shared through the boy's scar. Voldemort reasoned that he must be connected to the girl by the intimate memories that they shared. He thought about summoning Severus to him the next morning for a little chat about his failure.

There was another room identical to the one that he'd just left when he reached the end of the corridor, which meant that she was making an effort to hold on to his image. He could see himself standing behind her in the mirror, and he realized why she wanted him there.

He looked young. He looked handsome. He looked every bit the visage of Tom Riddle that had been lost long ago. He wasn't a vain man, but he knew that he had turned the heads of beautiful women even after he had entered into middle age. His physical charms had died with Lilly Potter, and he had never missed them before. Until he saw the way that Hermione Granger was looking at him, he couldn't have cared less about them.

She turned to him and smiled mischievously. "I've been looking for you." She giggled. "I feel like I've known you forever, but I don't really know you at all. It's exciting, don't you think?"

Voldemort was now certain that she had no idea who he really was. She thought that he was a fantasy constructed by her mind, and he planned to keep it that way. "Don't you mean that it's dangerous?"

"Yes. It's dangerous . . . like your eyes." She stood and walked to him. Placing her arms around his neck, she said, "I saw red in them before. You must be very powerful."

She was so alluring to him in that moment that he had to bite his tongue in order to keep control. Unlike before, he was mentally prepared to treat her as an enemy. He kept her identity and her age in mind as he stood rigid and aloof.

Voldemort noticed several surprising things about Hermione Granger while she stood there, failing to play the temptress for a second time. Not only was she aroused by the idea of his power, but she also hungered for darkness. Her dreams were probably her only outlet for her devious desires. He'd bet galleons that she'd be too weak to actually take what she wanted from the real world without guilt or regret, and that's what made her dangerous to him.

While his self-destructive side loved the idea of danger as much as hers did, it was time for him to leave. Like most villains, his sense of preservation tended to override all of his other urges. If she ever managed to piece together his identity, her loyalty to Potter would trump her desire for him. He told himself that he'd take more joy in Potter's suffering over her death than he would from seducing her in a dream. With that thought, he patiently disentangled himself from her and promptly removed himself from her mind.

HG***************************************************************LV

It was several days later when a suspecting Severus Snape answered a summons from the Dark Lord.

"Severus, I'd like to discuss the mission that I gave you on Christmas Eve. You do recall what I asked you to do with the Granger girl?"

Severus wanted to raise a curious eyebrow at his master's line of questioning, but his face remained neutral. He was usually questioned about the state of affairs at Hogwarts before anything else. He knew then that something had happened and that he would most likely be punished.

He braced himself and answered, "Yes, my lord."

"Did you view her memories upon removing them?"

"No, my lord. I only thought to protect your privacy and your plans. Her memory seemed to be important to you. I didn't know your plans, and I didn't want to jeopardize anything by tearing into her mind. I merely cast a generic spell to remove all of her memories from the time of her abduction to the point that I deposited her back in Hogsmeade."

Severus thought that the Dark Lord looked relieved and annoyed all at once.

"That is a sound answer, Severus. Your actions were correct in theory. However, you failed to remove all of her memories. How can that be?"

Severus slowly explained, "The only way that is possible is if she were purposefully hiding them, and the girl isn't proficient in Occlumency to my knowledge. It isn't a skill taught at Hogwarts. There was no way for me to know." The last sentence sounded like a desperate plea of innocence.

Lord Voldemort regarded his servant with a calculating look. He stood tall with Nagini coiling around his feet. Severus remained on his knees while is eyes darted frantically between his lord and the great snake.

Voldemort hissed, "Yes, it seems that you have indeed underestimated the little Mudblood whore." He knew that he himself had also underestimated the girl, but Severus would take the blame for both of them. He drew his wand and stroked it while looking at the other man. "I wish that I could gift you with my Cruciatus Curse, Severus, but I need your hands to be steady tonight. You will brew me a special Polyjuice Potion, and you will indeed feel the pain of the Cruciatus if you fail."

Severus knew that brewing the standard potion would be easy, but he wondered what the Dark Lord meant by "special." He watched cautiously as the older wizard pulled a wooden hairbrush out of his heavy robes.

"It took me hours to find this. I wasn't sure that I had anything of mine from when I was in school, but here it is. This brush contains my hair from when I was in my seventh year at Hogwarts, Severus. The specimens are very old and they are my own original body. That is your challenge. You must brew a potion to transform me back into my younger self."


	6. The Power

Getting Through Tomorrow

Chapter 6: The Power

Hermione strolled about Hogwarts Castle's majestic grounds, enjoying a calm and beautiful day alone. Ron had a date, and Harry couldn't shake a terrible headache that he had had all morning. Crookshanks walked along beside her, and she periodically knelt down to him and let him eat pieces of her crisps. She felt his paw tap her leg, so she tossed him another treat only to witness him get spooked at her gesture. He howled like he was in pain and ran. Panic seized Hermione, and she sprinted after him.

Hermione wasn't foolish enough to adhere to the false belief that villains only come out at night, but the urgency of the situation contributed to her complete lack of caution while following Crookshanks into the secret passage under the Whomping Willow. It simply happened too fast, and her guard was down. He ran, and she followed. She realized that she was at risk as soon as she slid into the dank tunnel, but she remained determined to ensure the safety of her familiar. Holding her wand at the ready, she continued the chase.

The smell of decrepit earth was so potent that she could taste it as she stomped her way down the muddy tunnel. She thought about calling out to Crookshanks until she noticed a flicker of blue light in the distance. While slowing her pace to a careful walk, she extinguished the light at the end of her wand. Despite the cold breeze whistling through the tunnel, Hermione's curls clung to the perspiration on her face. She loosened her cloak and wiped her palms dry on it in order to maintain a more secure grip on her wand. She stopped at the entrance of the shack long enough to calm her erratic breathing before stepping slowly into the room.

Voldemort sat alone on an old trunk with Hermione's familiar in his lap. His wand lay clutched in his hand behind the half-Kneazle. He was ready to strike on sight. His plan was to stun her, pillage her mind, and kill her. Using the body of his former self, he'd attack her before she realized anything was amiss.

Because of Severus, Tom was already in the foulest of moods, sitting there mulling over the fact that his most trusted servant had never before thought to suggest the Shrieking Shack for staging a trap. Had he been given more than an hour's notice, he could have made Severus lead Harry Potter to him instead of Hermione Granger. Of course, they'd close the place off as soon as they discovered her body.

Voldemort looked up to see Hermione when the creaking of a loose floorboard signaled her arrival, and he hesitated.

Her eyes grew wide and emotional at the sight of him. Her flushed skin made her look healthy and wild, and the rapid rise and fall of her chest underneath her open cloak caused Voldemort's own breath to hitch. She was indeed caught off guard, but he could feel his resolve slipping as well. He fought to regain control.

With renewed determination, he held his breath and tightened his grip on his wand. A spilt-second before the spell could cross his lips, she spoke.

"It's really you."

At the sound of her voice, he was defeated, but he was too panicked to be angry. He knew that he couldn't go through with his plan. She was truly a weakness that would take time to overcome, but he needed to do something. He gave himself a mental shake and started thinking about damage control. The animal on his lap still obscured his wand, which enabled him to slide it discreetly into his sleeve.

"Good morning, Hermione."

She hesitated. The look of amazement on her face turned to embarrassment when she realized that she didn't know his name. She didn't even know where she had met him before.

"I'm sorry, but what is your name? I'm having trouble remembering where we've met."

Tom laughed nervously and replied, "You really don't remember meeting me in the village on Christmas Eve? I know that you weren't feeling well. You were drinking alone." He flashed a devious smile. "I don't think you realized that the Hog's Head puts alcohol in everything . . . even hot chocolate. I offered to get your friends, but . . . " He chuckled a bit. "You even passed out a one point, but I thought that you would at least remember sitting with me for two hours."

At Hermione's continued confused look, Tom continued, "My name is Tom . . . Tom Smith. Remember? You told me all about your friends, Hogwarts, and Crookshanks here." He stood with the disgruntled feline and placed him at Hermione's feet.

Hermione was about to thank him for catching Crooks, but she stopped herself when an important question occurred to her. "Why are you in the Shrieking Shack?"

Tom thought quickly under her suspicious gaze and answered, "Isn't it strange? You spoke to me a bit about it that night, and I just happened to be in this area today, so I came by here to have a look." He gave her a friendly smile. "I figured that if you could brave it, then so could I. You were right about this place. It's not haunted at all."

She smiled in relief and said, "Yes, that is quite a coincidence."

She boldly stepped forward for a closer look and got a rush when he did the same. She couldn't remember the last time that she had been so happy. The boy of her dreams was real. "Yes, I think I do remember you." She seemed like she was in a trance as she reached for his hand and held it lightly in hers. She felt a surge of heat fly from his fingertips and gasped, "You _are_ powerful."

He chuckled. "I'll take that as a strange compliment."

She snapped out of her dreamlike mood and blushed even deeper than before. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be awkward. It's just that I can feel your magic . . . and I like it."

In a soft, serious voice, he said, "You need to realize your own power. It takes great strength to sense another's magic so easily."

She bowed her head. "No. I'm great with books and calculations, but . . ."

"Look at me, Hermione. Don't give power to your doubt."

She squeezed his hand and stepped into his embrace. She whispered, "You like Balzac? Did you know that he was a Squib?"

He gave her a surprised look. "Yes. Who is your favorite writer?"

They stood together for nearly an hour in the quiet room and talked softly to one another about any topic that came to mind. He held her as close as he dared, and she continuously reminded herself that she barely knew him each time that she felt an urge to close the distance between their lips. Conversation between them was easy and comfortable until Hermione approached the topic of blood status.

She was afraid of what he might think about her heritage, but she had to be honest with him and get it out in the open quickly. Interrupting his description of a Wizarding village near Varna, she blurted, "I'm Muggle-born!"

She couldn't tell if he was annoyed or shocked, but he just stared at her like he didn't know what she expected him to say. She added, "I just thought you ought to know."

He felt disgusted by her admission but not with her. He placed his lips against her ear and whispered, "My father was a Muggle."

She shivered at the feel of his breath on her neck and he backed away from her. He knew that Dumbledore was due back at Hogwarts soon.

"I'm sorry, Hermione, but I must go."

"When will I see you again?"

"I don't know. I'm going back to Norway tomorrow, but I'll write you when I'm settled."

"Oh? You don't attend school?"

"I finished my education at Durmstrang last year, and I've since been traveling a bit." He gave an exaggerated sigh. "It's now time for me to go back because I've accepted a position at the ministry there."

Voldemort watched Hermione leave. His uneasiness grew with every step that she took as he struggled to accept what had just occurred. The look that she had given him had been his undoing. Without his disguise, she would not have given him that look of pure amazement.

He had told himself that he needed to look like Tom Riddle because she could have possibly dealt the first hex had she seen the real image of Lord Voldemort as she had walked into the room, but he now knew that he had lied to himself. She might have been able to do some damage, but it wouldn't have been serious. His power was too great. She might have possibly been too scared to do anything at all. He thought about the last time that he had seen terror in her eyes, and that's when he knew exactly why he had really done it. He never again wanted to see her beautiful face look at him with the same fear that he saw in the faces of everyone else around him.


	7. The Realization

Getting Through Tomorrow

Chapter 7: The Realization

With every passing day, Hermione became more and more attached to Tom. His detailed and intimate letters made their relationship a reality for her. She dreamed of dark and sensual encounters with him each night and wrote him a letter every morning.

Even though she had someone to take her mind off of Ron's nonsense with Lavender Brown, she still felt jealousy. It hurt her to know that she knew so much about Ron, but he never paid attention to her feelings. She needed his respect and admiration, but she wasn't getting either of those things from him at the moment. They had history. She loved him. She needed him to love her back. She knew that wanting him all to herself was being a bit selfish under the circumstances, but Ron was more likely to be in her future than a handsome, charming, and intelligent world traveler like Tom.

Hermione stood in front of the mirror in the girls' lavatory with her eyes closed. The sound of water running through the tap had lulled her into a temporary sense of comfort, but it didn't take long for the restlessness of her conscious mind to ruin the temporary distraction from her problem.

Without warning, the image of Lavender embracing Ron popped into her mind for what had to be the tenth time, and fresh tears streaked her cheeks with the mascara she was wearing just for him. She didn't know why she kept dipping her fingers into the cool water and wiping more ruined make-up from her swollen face every time she broke down, but she needed something for her hands to do until she could finally find the will to compose herself completely and rejoin the others in the common room.

Speaking out loud to herself, Hermione asked, "Why am I so weak?"

"I was wondering when you'd finally ask me for help."

Myrtle sat pouting on the windowsill. The light spilling into the room just over her shoulder threw her transparent face into darkness while her feminine hands glowed where they sat crossed over her chest. The way in which her body leaned against the sill made her look as though she was trying to resist the urge to faint. She looked all at once demure, depressed, and deceased.

Despite herself, Hermione let out a sudden giggle at the scene. It was so typically Myrtle.

Myrtle screeched, "How dare you laugh at me!"

Hermione's expression darkened again. "I didn't come here have a laugh at your expense, Myrtle. You know that, so I don't see why you choose to constantly be at odds with me. Can't you just think about someone other than yourself for once? I'm not feeling too well at the moment."

"Oh, yes. I know exactly what you're going through, Hermione Granger."

Hermione snorted in disbelief. "Really? You've had plenty of boyfriends, have you?"

Myrtle sighed, "Of course not . . . but I did have a best friend that was a boy. We were friends from age eleven, but our relationship became complicated when we were sixteen. Does that sound familiar to you?"

"Too familiar."

"Exactly."

They sat in silence for a moment. Hermione realized two things. Myrtle wasn't going to talk until asked, and she needed another girl to talk to about Ron. Myrtle was as available as it got.

"Myrtle?"

"Yes?"

"Did you love him?"

"No, but he loved me."

"Then, I don't see how you can help me. I'm the one that loves Ron, not the other way around."

"I can't fix everything for you, Hermione, but I can help you to see things his way and maybe save your friendship. My friendship with Tom didn't survive."

"Your friendship? Didn't survive?"

"No, and that's something you should consider right now. From where I sit, it looks like Harry Potter needs you and Ron to stick together."

"But he makes me feel so horrible even though they aren't together anymore. She's a psycho, he's an idiot, and they are driving me mad."

"Hermione, Ron isn't trying to make you feel horrible. He cares for you. He doesn't love you, but maybe he will love you one day . . . I always cared for Tom, but I wasn't ready to give him the things he wanted from me. I might have never been ready. I don't know."

As was usual with Myrtle, she became lost in her sadness. Hermione knew what Myrtle was telling her, but it was difficult to accept. She knew for a fact that most adults couldn't even do what Myrtle was suggesting she do. She had to accept that Ron wasn't hurting her on purpose and that she had to find the strength to continue the friendship. She had always been proud of her rational mind. She knew that she needed to stop feeling sorry for herself and control her feelings.

"Thanks, Myrtle. It may take some time, but I think I can handle my relationship with Ron . . . whatever happened to Tom. Is he still alive?"

Myrtle frowned and pulled her knees to her chest. She looked even more hopeless than Hermione had ever seen her. "Yes . . . even though I'm dead, he still finds ways to hurt me."

Hermione puzzled over Myrtle's statement for a moment before attempting to lighten the mood. "But, surely you had fun together as children?"

"Muggle-borns were not as common back then. I was shy. Most of the students just ignored me, but Tom accepted everything about me." She laughed bitterly and added, "He always thought that he could help me become a strong witch. He had some nonsense he would always say to me. It was something about not giving up your power."

Hermione's ability to breathe became suddenly impaired. She quickly turned as pale as her companion, and she leaned on the wall for support before sliding slowly to the floor. Between every accelerated heartbeat pounding in her head, she recalled, examined, and organized another memory.

Myrtle's Tom was Tom Riddle. Her Tom was Tom Riddle. She had been involved with Lord Voldemort since Christmas Eve.

Hermione found her voice and quoted, "When you doubt your power, you give power to your doubt."

"Exactly!" Myrtle gasped.

"Merlin, Myrtle! Tom Riddle. It was Voldemort the whole time . . . in my dreams . . . in the shack . . . the memories of you. H-he killed you."

Myrtle ignored most of Hermione's babbling and said, "I didn't know it was him that murdered me until you told me in your second year." She pouted. "He obviously never spoke Parseltongue to me. I didn't recognize the voice. He had stopped talking to me, but I never believed him capable of hurting me. I only thought that I had been miserable before. After finding out that Tom . . ."

She sighed and floated down to where she was inches away from Hermione before whispering, "His betrayal weighs on my soul and gives new meaning to the word 'misery,' Hermione."

Hermione sobbed openly and loudly as she stared at displaced soul before her. She muttered, "He regrets it."

Placing her hands on her hips, Myrtle snapped, "You aren't making sense. What is wrong with you? You've never been so upset by my misfortunes before."

Through sporadic sobs, Hermione explained, "Gods, his entire movement was fueled by his anger at you! He always knew that he wanted power, b-but his failure with you revealed to him an angle . . . a-a way to gain support. His obsession with blood status stemmed from the fact that a Muggle-born rejected him, a-and he doesn't want anyone to know."

Hermione wiped her face with her sleeve and composed herself. She spoke to Myrtle in a comforting voice. "Underneath his anger, he still cares for you. He regrets what he's done to you, Myrtle. I'm not sure how or why, but I've seen his memories of you. He mostly thinks of you on one specific night of the year, but he dreams of you often."

Myrtle's expression turned cruel. "Is he utterly unhappy and alone?"

"Yes. I believe he is."

"Good." For the first time ever, Hermione saw a hint of a smile on Myrtle's lips.

The ghost turned and glided away, but she turned back and asked, "Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"I'm not going to ask you how you got such intimate details about Tom. Your secret is safe with me, especially since you seem so upset about it, but I do warn you to be careful. You don't want to end up like me, do you?"

Hermione felt guilty, but she refused to even contemplate admitting to fraternizing with the enemy.

Failing to suppress the urge to vomit, she ran to the closest stall and became sick. With the sickness came more tears. Even Myrtle abandoned her. She was completely alone with her terrible secret, and that's when more realizations started to surface.

Other than the fact that her Tom was the Dark Lord, he was old. He wasn't as old as Dumbledore, but he was still really old. She was lusting after a man old enough to be her grandfather, and he was also immortal to some degree. She had always thought that her secret desires were a bit twisted, and she laughed bitterly at the idea that she had too much in common with Dracula's bride.

Her biggest problem was her dreams because she suddenly knew that he was actually in her mind at night. She figured that he was probably seducing her while he waited to glean valuable information about Harry from her thoughts.

She needed to do several things as soon as possible. It could take her some time to figure out how to use Voldemort's history with Myrtle against him, but she knew that she could do it. She needed to brainstorm, but she also needed to get some Dreamless Sleep Potion and write Tom a letter.


	8. The Letters

Getting Through Tomorrow

Chapter 8: The Letters

_Mr. Smith, _

_I know who you really are. I know that you have been in my thoughts this entire time, shamelessly manipulating me in order to gain knowledge of my closest friend. Even though you are the father of lies, I never imagined that you would stoop so low as to seduce a Muggle-born witch young enough to be your granddaughter. What did you use to hide that hideous abomination that you call a body? Ashamed of it, are you? After all you've destroyed to get it, you should be. From now on, I'll be sleeping with Dreamless Sleep to keep your snooping mind and the image of your former self out of my dreams. Leave me alone. _

_-H. Granger _

HG***************LV

Voldemort expected to be furious about her scornful remarks, but he was unaware of the depression creeping into his soul. As soon as he realized that a pitiful sigh was seconds from crossing his lips, he finally caught himself and recognized the feeling of hopelessness. Understandably horrified with his rogue emotions, he nonchalantly struck the unfortunate post owl with the Killing Curse before pulling fresh parchment from his desk.

He had known that it would only be a matter of time before Hermione began to suspect that something was out of place with their relationship, but that knowledge didn't make reading her letter less excruciating. The one thought suddenly burning in his mind was that he had let himself get rejected by another Mudblood. With that thought, his hurt finally turned to rage. He broke several expensive quills before his anger finally hit a plateau, and he was able to calm himself enough to write properly.

HG***************LV

_Miss Granger, _

_No, my dear, you have been manipulating me. At first, the connection between our minds was unknown to me. You appeared in my dreams just as I appeared in yours, and guess what? You can't play innocent with me because I've seen the way your mind really ticks. You were trying to seduce me before you even knew my name. You sensed my darkness and my power even then, and you desired it for yourself. The only problem is that you are too weak to turn your thoughts into actions. You have made my life more complicated than I ever wanted it to be. Your insults to my age and appearance are irrelevant as I shall surely look the same when you are old and grey. My appearance is indeed unorthodox, but my new body is strong and surely good enough for a slag such as you. _

_My part in your current troubles is unfortunate for us both, but you must take responsibility for your own actions. You will be labeled a traitor for your involvement with me. Think about that before you confess anything to your friends. _

_-Tom Smith _

HG**************LV

The school owl that she had used to send Voldemort's letter never returned. The next morning, a different and familiar bird greeted her at breakfast. She grew nervous and avoided eye contact with her housemates. Excusing herself from the table, she relocated to the deserted Gryffindor Tower for some privacy. As soon as she read his letter, she knew that he was right about her actions. They had been wanton and reckless, and she had loved every minute. Tears of shame clouded her vision as she reread his words.

She recognized his hurt, and she felt momentary guilt for her coarse words of rejection. While thinking of his feelings for Myrtle, she shivered. She then grew angry with him once again for soliciting her guilt. He didn't deserve any feelings of remorse from her, and they both knew it. She could also sense his fear that she would tell someone about their friendship. She knew that writing another letter to him wasn't a good idea, but logic was abandoning her with every passing moment. She had a note scribbled out and posted before she could stop herself from doing what she really wanted to do, which was to communicate to him her level of irritation at his antics.

HG**************LV

_Tom, _

_They won't find out because I'm not going to tell them, and I know that you'll never admit to writing love letters to a Muggle-born schoolgirl, you twat. _

_-Hermione _

HG*************LV

_Hermione, _

_As you've recently discovered, I am the Dark Lord. Hurling insults at me could be hazardous to your health. If I didn't know better, I'd think that you are playing with me. You are lucky that I have forgiven your last written outburst because I understand that you were in shock. _

_Also, are you finished with those books that I let you borrow? _

_-Tom _

HG**************LV

_Dear Lord Twat, _

_Stop writing me! Have you gone mad? I know who you are. Our correspondence is over. _

_-H. G. _

HG**************LV

_Mudblood, _

_If our correspondence is over, then why are you still sending me notes and keeping my books? _

_-T. R. _

HG*************LV

_Tom, _

_Here are your damned books! Now, leave me alone. _

_-Hermione _

_P.S. The one about time travel was truly brilliant. Where can I buy a copy? _

HG**************LV

_Hermione, _

_Here, you can keep my copy. I've made it a Portkey that only you can activate. You will be transported directly to me. It will send only you. The decision is yours. _

_Tom _

HG**************LV

_Tom, _

_What? For fuck's sake! You have no idea what I am going through right now because of you! Are you saying that you love me? Are you planning to give up your Death Eater wankers and flee Britain with me? That sounds bloody ridiculous, doesn't it? What the fuck do you want? I'm trying to let you go. I have to let go! _

_-H_

HG**************LV

_Hermione, _

_Please calm yourself. First of all, you know that I don't love you. You know very well that I am not capable of that emotion, and I want to be very clear with you about that because I wish for you to understand how I do feel about you._

_For better or for worse, I made my choice the day that I killed Myrtle, using dark magic to gain immortality. My soul has literally been torn to pieces over the years by my desire for power. I am too consumed by my ambitions to ever properly love you. I have spent years building what I now have, and I've done it only for myself. For the most part, I am satisfied with who I am. I desire you more than I've ever desired a woman, but I will ruin you for my own gain. Do not put me in that position. Be warned. _

_Now, you obviously have more that you wish to say to me, so please do so. I'll be patiently awaiting your next letter. _

_-Tom _

HG**************LV

_Tom, _

_I'm calm now, but I've never been so confused in all of my life, and I am utterly frustrated by the content of your last letter. You are right. I need to talk to you. However, you are also the cause of my situation. Until recently, you have been the person to whom I've been turning for guidance. Your correspondence with me was intelligent, insightful, and generous, but it was also a lie. As you have just told me yourself, that isn't who you really are, and I would be a fool to ignore the facts and pretend that you are Tom Smith. I wish that I could, but I can't. It's killing me to keep this pain to myself, but what choice do I have? You can't be trusted. _

"_Solitude is fine, but you need someone to tell you that solitude is fine."_

_-Hermione_

HG***************LV

_Hermione, _

_Say everything that you need to say in your next letter. I don't expect you to send it as you obviously aren't comfortable doing so, but putting the words down on paper will help you. _

"_Equality may perhaps be a right, but no power on earth can ever turn it into a fact."_

_-Tom _

HG**************LV

_Tom, _

_This is the letter that you suggested I write, and I have decided to actually send it as my last words to you, so here are my thoughts._

_I believe that you already know where my loyalties lie. I am torn, but I am not broken. I will never leave Harry's side. One day, I will stand beside him as he faces you on the battlefield. Having said that, I wish you to know that a part of me really wants to accept your offer. You are a great and powerful wizard, and the darker side of my personality is flattered by the risks that you are taking with me. However, the sane side of my personality knows that you destroy lives. You've been trying to destroy mine for years, and you almost succeeded just by making me care for you. Your ideals and your actions are despicable to say the least. I honestly wish you no harm, but it saddens me that you wish so much harm toward others. You think that I am the weak one, but you are not without weaknesses. Your overconfidence in your power and your abuse of it are two of your biggest weaknesses, but please do feel free to keep underestimating me. _

_Despite myself, I have deep feelings for you, but I will not allow you to exploit those feelings any longer. I've looked back over our latest correspondence, and it is plain to see that we have come to the end of our relationship as we have both been heard and understood. _

"_Power is not revealed by striking hard or often, but by striking true."_

_-Hermione _

HG**************LV

_Hermione, _

_The fact that you would curse me as soon as my back is turned only makes me desire you more. I seem to share your newly acquired penchant for danger, little one. It's a shame that you will die with your friends in the final battle. You may be prepared to give your life. You may even be happy to do so, but that is not what I want for you. So much potential and raw power should not be wasted in a doomed attempt to overthrow me. I only hope that your demise will be swift and painless and that I do not see you on the battlefield. _

"_The most virtuous women have something within them, something that is never chaste."_

_Au Revoir, _

_Tom _

HG**************LV

Hermione nervously clutched the last letter from her Tom, Lord Voldemort. There was so much tension in her body that her grip on the crisp parchment tore its edges. She trembled with anger after reading the last line and impulsively struck the parchment with an Incendio Curse. As it caught aflame, she changed her mind in a moment of weakness. She used her cloak to frantically snuff out the fire, but she failed to save the blackened paper. It crumbled into ashes in her quaking hands, and she cried until her desperate emotions subsided. With renewed resolve, she dusted away the ashes and went to meet Harry in the common room. They had an important year ahead of them to plan, and she needed to find her beaded handbag.


	9. The Fall

Getting Through Tomorrow

Chapter 9: The Fall

It had been almost eight months since Hermione's impulsive burning of Voldemort's final letter to dust. That was double the time of their virtual relationship, but she still thought of him daily. She had no choice but to think of him with part of his restless soul chained about her pale neck. Wearing the locket tormented the boys because it made them irritable, violent, and jealous. It used their anger and their fear against them. It had a completely different effect on Hermione.

She felt desire. She felt a longing so deep and desperate that she had once found herself keeling over the sleeping form of Harry with the intent of tasting his scar. She had been in a trance-like state until Harry had stirred beneath his blankets. The sudden movement had alerted Hermione to the bizarreness of the compulsion. An awkward feeling of embarrassment and disgust had lingered in her mind for days.

The worst feeling induced by the Horcrux was a feeling that she was losing herself to perverse madness. She developed an irrational fear of becoming like Bellatrix Lestrange. Her strength and her love for Harry and Ron kept her true to the mission, but her constant inner struggle made her physically and mentally exhausted. She relied heavily on her crucial supply of Dreamless Sleep Potion. She was a functioning addict, and she was aware of it. As she had no other means of defense, she pushed forward. Devotion and willpower held her together.

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Hermione felt weary as she and Harry drudged through the snowy streets of Godric's Hollow, but she also felt relief that it was Harry's turn to wear the locket. The realization that it was Christmas Eve sent a shiver down Hermione's spine. A reflection of Tom and Myrtle glimmered in the back of her mind before she quickly dismissed it, but another image soon took its place.

It was no longer a memory of the young Tom Riddle plaguing her thoughts. It was her greatest fear taking shape before her mind's eye. Her worst thought was not that they were in danger. She was used to having that thought because they were always in danger. What she feared more than anything was facing Voldemort as a real and hostile adversary. She feared her reaction to seeing him in his true form and his reaction to seeing her after months of separation. She wondered if he would kill her this time. Even though she told herself that she would use force against him if necessary, she knew that it would hurt her to do so. A part of her was dying to know if he still felt the same way about her.

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The air in Bathilda Bagshot's home was moist and putrid. Hermione felt uneasy as soon as the old woman beckoned Harry up the narrow stairs. She stood alone in the quiet darkness trying to fight the chill that was slowly creeping over her. She paced about the room with her arms crossed over her chest in an attempt to stay warm until she heard several loud bumps coming from the room above her. While calling out to Harry, she climbed the stairs with caution.

Harry was struggling against something that she couldn't see. She aimed her wand and screamed curses at the unknown beast. Because the magical sparks ricocheted through the room and illuminated the air, she worked out what was happening. It was Nagini, and Hermione's first instinct was to look around for the snake's master. That second of distraction was all it took for Nagini to strike at Hermione, and she was barely able to dive out of the snake's way in time.

In the flurry of bodies, spells, and broken glass, Hermione crouched in the shadows of a corner and heard Harry announce to her that Voldemort was coming. Desperate to avoid a meeting, Hermione did all that she could to follow Harry as he dragged her across the room and out of the window. She screamed in shock as they fell through the glass. The last thing she saw before they Apparated was an angry pair of red eyes watching them fall. A scream more violent than hers ripped through the brisk night air before fading into nothing.

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Voldemort sat alone with his thoughts as he did every year on Christmas Eve. The only difference was that he had not been alone all night this year. Placing his elbow on the armrest of his chair and leaning on it for support, he violently massaged his forehead and stared into the blazing fire. He had been wallowing in weakness and loneliness all night, but the feeling of disgust at what he had just done was taunting him. He had never before felt physically sick in his new body, which made the feeling even more intrusive. Looking back over the last few hours of licentious debauchery that he had shared with his most loyal Death Eater, he wondered how he had ever thought that Bella could sate his desire for another.

He had lately been too consumed with thoughts of defeating Harry Potter and the Order to spend time thinking of anything else, but renewed thoughts of Myrtle came with the dawning of the most cursed day on the calendar. It didn't take long for nostalgic thoughts of his childhood mistake to morph into images of his most recent mistake, Miss Hermione Granger.

He languished in the darkness while trying to suppress a renewed hunger for her, but he couldn't get her out of his mind. After the first few nights of not being able to enter her dreams, he had moved his focus back to getting rid of Potter. He had denied her memory for too long, and it was finally rushing back to him in full force.

An unexpected call from his adored familiar roused him from his depression in an instant, and it only took him a few moments to arrive at Godric's Hollow. Voldemort was finally pleased with himself. He put aside all of those emotions that had been nagging him all day and concentrated on his goal. His movements were swift and precise as he approached Nagini's location, but excitement turned to horror when he saw Potter grab Hermione and throw them both out of the window.

He was relying on Potter's stupidity, which was why he had placed Nagini in Bathilda's house, but he hadn't expected to witness such a dangerous and successful escape. It was beyond belief that the boy kept slipping away from him with the aid of dumb luck. Baffled by the fact that Potter had gotten away with barely a scratch even though Nagini was a seasoned killer, Voldemort eventually concluded that Hermione must have saved the boy from Nagini's grip. He was angry with both of them. He was angry with Potter for being alive, and he was angry with Hermione for choosing Potter instead him.

Seeing Hermione fall with Potter only increased Voldemort's fury. Her insistence on following Potter into certain death was going to get her killed, and seeing the shock in her eyes right before she vanished made Voldemort admit to himself that he was going to have a real problem with witnessing her eventual demise. He thought about simply ensuring her incapacitation before the next battle, which would at least prevent her death at the hands of his Death Eaters.

Voldemort usually didn't indulge in Firewhisky, but he didn't know what else to do after such a failure paired with the worst Christmas Eve of his life. In fact, he was quite sure that he preferred all of those Christmas Eves spent without a proper body to this one. As he poured the amber liquid into a crystal tumbler, he was reminded of Hermione's eyes. Getting through tomorrow was going to be much easier once he reached the bottom of the bottle. After an hour of heavy drinking, he was convinced that he needed to attempt contact with her, so he closed his eyes and concentrated on her memory.

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Hermione was using the last of her precious energy to make Harry as comfortable as possible. She had gotten him into his bunk, taken the locket, and treated his wounds, but he kept shouting in this sleep. All of her efforts to wake him had failed, so she wiped his feverish skin with a damp cloth and whispered reassuring words to him. As he drifted into a calmer sleep, Hermione was finding it more difficult to keep talking to him as she was becoming too sluggish to articulate clearly. She told herself that she just needed to rest her eyes for a moment.

Five minutes later, she was fast asleep. She was still sitting on the floor with her upper body draped across Harry's bunk. Her head rested on the pillow beside him. A gentle voice was calling to her as she slept, and the growing heat of the locket against her chest lulled her into a deeper and more peaceful slumber.

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Hermione was shrouded in darkness with a voice that seemed to come from everywhere around her. After finally coming to her senses, she recognized the voice.

"I need you, Hermione. Come to me now, and I'll give you everything that you could ever desire."

"What about love, Tom? You can't give me that."

"If you love me, and I keep you, then what difference does it make?"

His tone was desperate and Hermione wished that she could see the expression on his face. She needed to trust his words.

"Tom? Where are we?"

"This is your mind, Hermione. You must be truly exhausted because I've never seen it this vacant. It's usually nauseatingly active. Potter isn't taking care of you the way that I can."

She sighed. "I want to see you."

"You are the god of this domain, my dear. All you have to do is will it, and it will be."

It happened like an accelerated sunrise, and the light was suddenly all around her. Feeling intimidated by her own creation, she fidgeted a bit at the stark surroundings about her. The simplicity of the scene made it awesome to behold, and she spent several moments just staring into the endless blue ocean. Far below her feet, waves crashed violently against smooth black rocks. She inhaled the scent of salty air as the strong sea wind blew across the cliff on which she was standing.

His voice came from behind her. "Very nice."

She answered him as she turned to greet him. "My parents took me here as a child, but I can't remember . . ."

Her sentence was cut short by her own gasp because standing behind her was Lord Voldemort in all of his dark glory. She backed away from him until she was standing dangerously close to the edge.

Voldemort knew that she was in no real danger, but he also knew that she would likely wake herself by falling. He definitely didn't want that to happen too soon, so he immediately changed his appearance for her.

She blinked once, and the man before her was Tom. He was older, but he was still Tom.

"I apologize for frightening you, Hermione, but I wanted to show you that I am finished playing games. I want you to know who is really standing here before you and asking for your company."

Hermione decided to proceed with caution even though she was thoroughly flattered by Voldemort's honesty. She suddenly felt ridiculous for being afraid of his true image in her own dream. She was also aware of how rude and superficial she must seem.

"I'm sorry, Tom. I don't know why I reacted that way."

He chucked. "Yes, you do. You ran from me in Godric's Hollow only a few hours ago. I would probably be more insulted if you weren't afraid."

They were each silent for a moment while she studied his face.

"Is this what you looked like before?"

He gave her a stiff nod and said, "Yes, but it is a waste of my power to sustain this illusion under usual circumstances, so I only appear this way when I'm traveling because it draws less attention. I prefer the intimidation and respect that my real image commands."

She nodded in understanding. "Look . . . I can't stay here with you. In fact, you've been tormenting Harry's mind since we last saw you. How do I know that you aren't playing with me now?"

Voldemort smiled. "I can't deny that I am pleased with Potter's difficulties, but I am only indirectly responsible. I can't exactly control that he senses my feelings when they are extreme. I can keep my thoughts from him, but my feelings are an entirely different matter. I leak images to him at times, but you can't blame me for wanting to confuse my enemy. It's been quite some time since I have manipulated his thoughts on purpose, you know? Maybe it's time for me to . . ."

"No!" Hermione shouted at him while taking several steps closer. "Leave him alone, for the love of God, please! Why do you need to do any of this? If you weren't a tyrant, there would be no prophesy, and Harry wouldn't have to be the Chosen One!"

Voldemort looked almost sad when he answered, "You cannot change what has already been set into motion. The boy will die."

Hermione noticed that Voldemort hadn't lost his overconfidence, but she chose not to comment on it since she would surely be counting on his weaknesses in the end.

"I can't be with you."

Voldemort sensed the disappointment in Hermione's voice. He had to say something to make her come to him. "Would you give me one evening?"

Hermione considered it. "How do I know that you would let me return?"

"You don't."

His honesty was chipping away at her resolve, and she started to make his case for him. "But, you've let me leave before."

He brushed a hand down her cheek. "Yes, I have. You need this as much as I do, Hermione. I can see that you are wasting away out there with Potter, and I can give you so much pleasure."

She was so overwhelmed that she could not offer him a verbal rejection. She didn't trust her voice, so she slowly shook her head.

His tone became more desperate. "Please, Hermione. I need to get you out of my mind."

He knew that he had chosen the wrong words as soon as he saw the anger building in her eyes.

"So, that's it? You want me to quench your thirst so that you can forget about me? You think that one shag will do that, do you? You make me sick."

His voice was calm, but menacing. "Don't act so prim, Miss Granger. Are you going to lie to me by saying that you don't want the same thing?" At her confused expression, he continued. "Think about it. Satisfying your desires just might free your mind of some confusion, yes? You could also satisfy your curiosity about me, and then you could move on like nothing had ever happened."

Hermione was dying to tell him that he was right. She wanted to tell him that she would come to him as soon as she awoke, but she didn't. Forming clear thoughts in his presence was not possible for her. Because she was at war with her own conscience, she turned and flung herself into the raging ocean.


	10. The Thirst

Getting Through Tomorrow

Chapter 10: The Thirst

Hermione awoke with a start and clawed at the locket smoldering against her heaving chest. Wrapping it in a bit of cloth, she shoved it into the bottom of her bag. Harry wasn't fit to wear it, and she needed to get it out of her sight. She literally tore out bits of her wild hair in frustration. How could she have let herself fall asleep without taking Dreamless Sleep Potion? She had only meant to rest for a moment. Harry had needed her to tend his wounds. He still needed her.

Harry was still asleep, and she quickly prepared more damp cloths when she noticed that he still hadn't overcome the fever. She cried silently as Harry started yelling in his sleep again. She suspected that Voldemort was torturing him on purpose as payback for her leaving him without an answer.

The minutes passed excruciatingly slow with Harry talking in his sleep, and Hermione blamed herself. She hugged her knees to her chest and watched Harry for signs of improvement. He suddenly moaned loudly in obvious pain. Hermione did all that she could to make him as comfortable as possible. Harry finally regained consciousness just before dawn.

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Hermione tried to make Harry feel better about his broken wand by bringing him tea during his turn standing guard outside of the tent, but he made it very clear to her that he wanted to be left alone. Because of their recent discoveries about Dumbledore, Harry was especially harsh with her.

Harry didn't want her company, and that was a huge problem for Hermione because she was terrified of being alone. She particularly didn't want to be left alone with her ambivalent thoughts of Voldemort, who actually did want her company. More than ever, Hermione craved contact with another soul, but she feared that Harry was slipping away from her just as Ron had done.

Voldemort had been right about her. She had an itch to scratch, and ignoring it was only making the desire more intense. Her heartbeat accelerated as her excitement grew. She imagined a frantic voice whispering her name, and the Horcrux inside of her handbag started to flicker in time with her pulse. She wanted to be filled. Her focus was dwindling. She needed to feel his power again.

She rummaged through her handbag until she came across the book that he had sent her. All she had to do was open the cover and place her palm on the first page. She told herself that it would only take a moment's courage to do so, and she could be back in plenty of time to take Harry's place outside.

Harry wouldn't leave his post until she showed up to relieve him, so her main concern was that she didn't have a wand since Harry was using hers. She knew in her heart that Voldemort wouldn't harm her, and she could clutch the Portkey close to her body and be prepared to travel back at any sign of danger.

She could feel her nerve slipping. She placed her thumb under the book's cover, but she hesitated to throw it open.

A piece of torn parchment slipped from between the book's worn pages and drifted into Hermione's lap. She recognized the precise handwriting. It said, "Are you brave enough to take what you really desire, my lovely Gryffindor?"

The instant after her eyes swept across the parchment, she clinched her eyes shut, sucked in a quick breath, and flipped open the cover. She was gone as the sound of her hand slapping onto the page echoed throughout the empty tent.

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Voldemort's eyes were closed while he savored the earthy taste of Firewhisky, and the feel of it warming his throat lulled him into a cheap comfort. His eyes flew open at a muffled sound paired with a gust of cool air, and standing before him where there had been empty space only a second before was Hermione Granger. The sound of his glass tumbler hitting the floor jarred him from the temporary shock of seeing her in the flesh.

Hermione jumped back as the glass shattered at her feet. She couldn't read the emotions flitting across Voldemort's face, but the intensity of his gaze frightened her into reopening the book. She had made a terrible mistake in activating the Portkey. A shiver ran through her fingers as they quickly neared the page, but her guarded eyes remained focused on the man in front of her. He spoke, and her anxious hand halted and hovered above the book.

"Please stay."

She shook her head. "I thought I could do this, but I can't. Nothing short of an Unbreakable Vow could make me comfortable enough to stay."

With a heavy sigh, Voldemort reached for his wand and said, "That's not possible, Hermione. We don't have a Bonder. I can't risk anyone seeing you here. You know that."

At the sight of his wand, Hermione tensed and prepared to reactivate the Portkey. "Goodbye, Tom."

"Wait, Hermione. I'm not done speaking."

She rocked back on her heals, but she eyed him questioningly and waited.

He said, "I'm willing to make a Wand Accord with you. I'm sure you know that such an agreement could prevent my magic from harming you or using force against you."

"I also know that the wizard making the contract has the advantage, and since my hands are full at the moment and your wand is already drawn . . . I appear to be at a disadvantage."

Voldemort did something that left Hermione speechless with confusion and awe. He willingly presented his wand to her in the palms of both of his hands. She could do nothing except stare at his outstretched arms and the powerful wand that was simply lying there harmless to her. A desperate voice in her mind was screaming for her to take the wand before it was too late, but she was too numb with disbelief to move her body. It was difficult enough for her to make her eyes scan the scene for an explanation of his odd behavior, but she found one.

The bottle of Firewhisky beside his chair was nearly spent, and the man before her seemed to be emitting the heavy aroma of the strong drink.

"You've been drinking."

"Yes."

She didn't feel like his simple and trancelike answer was an appropriate response to her statement, so she said, "Is that all you have to say? You're completely smashed!"

In those moments, her mood changed from a flattered sort of wondrous confusion to annoyance. She didn't know why his impaired state of mind bothered her so much because it was surely an advantage, but there was something unsettling about him not being himself with her. Clarity came with her feeling of annoyance, and she snatched the wand from his yielding hands.

Voldemort didn't react to her sudden show of attitude. He only whispered, "You know the spell, Hermione. Get on with it."

As she recited a series of incantations, his wand produced an azure light. Using the dark wand was difficult for her. She felt a pain in her soul, but it was a pain that she began to enjoy as she completed the spell. She took his hand and said, "I, Hermione Jean Granger, bind you, Tom Marvolo Riddle, to a Wand Accord. You will not harm me in any way. You will not force me to stay here. You will not force me to do anything against my will. You will not seek information from me that I do not wish to give. In turn, I will show you the same respect. My magic shall seal this contract until midnight. Will you accept?"

He squeezed her hand and clearly stated, "I will."

The azure light engulfed both of them before fading to black. Hermione felt the power of his wand pulsing through her body, and she found it strangely erotic. Their hands were still clasped, and Hermione was reveling in the feel of his skin. She could no longer endure the awkward but agonizing distance between them, so she took his face in her hands.

His pale cheeks were smooth, and she caressed them while studying his deformed face. He had no wrinkles and his skin felt so soft and good in her hands. His eyes were piercing, and she found them quite stunning even though the red glint in them was pure evil. They weren't as distorted as people gossiped that they were, but his nose was completely mutated. She traced a finger over it. His lips were very thin, but they were there. She wanted to kiss them.

He didn't realize that she was looking at his true image until she started scrutinizing his nose. She was already attempting to kiss his strange lips when he pushed her back long enough to magically alter his image.

As she once again moved her lips closer to his, she said, "You didn't have to do that."

"I didn't do it for you. The way you were looking at me was unnerving."

All she could see was her Tom. She was afraid that she'd stop breathing if he denied her any longer. "I can't help it if I find you fascinating. Kiss me before I die of desire."

"Take what you want, Hermione."

Her only reply was a hungry kiss. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled herself flush with his body. When he lifted her into his arms, she wrapped her legs around his waist. Without opening her eyes, she knew that he was taking her to his bed. Her heart fluttered with excitement, and she raked her nails down his back. Suddenly realizing that he was wearing far too many clothes, she freed his heavy black robe from his shoulders. Before it even hit the floor, she was working on unbuttoning his shirt. All she knew was that she wanted more.

He didn't bother with buttons. Easily ripping her blouse from her supple body, he brought his smooth hands and his warm mouth to her chest. He smiled against her skin when she moaned and fell back on the bed. He fell with her, dragging them both completely onto the mattress. He could feel her delicate hands coaxing him to continue by pressing his head between her bare breasts and rubbing his dark hair. As he worshipped her beautiful body, he became aware that she was using her thighs to push down his trousers.

He looked up into her ravenous eyes. "Slow down, Hermione."

"You told me to take what I want. Have you had too much to drink to . . . perform?"

He dropped his head to her shoulder while chuckling darkly. Turning his lips to her ear, he kissed her there and said, "Don't insult me, witch. It's not my fault that you've never been properly appreciated by whichever _boys _have had you before me." He was slowly unbuttoning her denims. "I can have you quaking with more pleasure than you've ever felt with anyone else by using only my hands, so just be patient and enjoy it. By the time we get to the main event, you will never want to leave my bed."

Hermione shivered in anticipation, but fixed him with a look of defiance and said, "But I will leave."

He pulled her into a rough embrace and claimed her lips with his. He was sure that he'd never tasted anything so sweet as her. He took his time savoring every bit of her while her vocal expressions of bliss filled him with smug satisfaction.

She had never before felt such ecstasy. It wasn't only his body consuming hers. His unrestrained magic caressed every bit of her bare skin. The magic quickened her sensitivity and intensified her release. In the throes of passion, she found herself wishing more and more that she didn't have to leave. She never wanted to leave Tom. She would never want anyone like she wanted him.

Their passionate lovemaking was a relief to Hermione because it was also tender. In her dreams, she had liked him to be rough with her. She had occasionally been borderline abusive to him as well. There was a huge difference between what she liked to fantasize about and what she really wanted in the bedroom, and it surprised her that Tom knew. He seemed to know better than her what she really wanted.

They lounged together in peaceful silence for a long while before he summoned the bottle of Firewhisky from across the room.

Hermione sounded hurt when she asked, "Are you alright?"

"I'm more than alright. I'm perfect. Why do you ask?"

"You still need the bottle?"

"If I drink the rest of this, I'll likely sleep through your departure."

Hermione understood. She placed her arms around him, rested her head on his torso, and enjoyed the afterglow.

He wrapped a strand of her curly hair around his index finger and studied it. "If I die, you will care."

She knew that it was the drink talking as he never spoke of losing the war, but she answered him honestly anyway. "But, I won't stop it. I once read a book about an angel and a demon. They were in love, but they knew that they'd face each other in the next war over Heaven and that one of them might perish. I hadn't thought of it in years until just now. I must watch you die, Tom."

"Yes, but you will truly care about my death as your family and friends will care about your death. The world will remember my legacy, but you will remember me. Wizards will speak of my great and terrible deeds, but you alone will speak to me when you visit my final resting place."

"Yes, I will, and that's how you'll live forever."

That's what he wanted to hear, and she knew it. She was glad to be there with him. She knew that her appearance through the Portkey had interrupted some sort of pity party, and she wanted to be there for him because she did care.

He surprised her when he said, "Thank you."

He felt Hermione pressing her gorgeous body against him. She thanked him in return just before he descended into a deep sleep.

Stifling a yawn, she realized that she could still get an hour of sleep in her bunk if she left immediately. She was ready. It was time for her to focus on the mission. She dressed quickly, gave her lover a lingering last look, and left.


	11. The Break

Getting Through Tomorrow

Chapter 11: The Break

If Hermione were still attending Hogwarts, she'd be enjoying an Easter holiday with the Weasleys. She was instead being brutally dragged through the ominous iron gates of Malfoy Manor by Fenrir Greyback and his band of ragamuffins. Ron was too angry to reason properly, but they were both helping to conceal Harry's identity for as long as possible.

She needed to search her surroundings for some vital clues. Anything out of the ordinary could potentially aid them in their escape, and she knew that she would find something. She always did. Cataloguing every detail of their situation, her eyes scanned the grand room. They had no allies in sight. They had no wands. There was no way to call for help. Their situation seemed bleak until her eyes eventually fell upon someone of interest.

Narcissa Malfoy stood protectively clutching her son's arm. It looked as though she didn't want him to move any closer to his aunt, Bellatrix Lestrange, and the other Death Eaters. When Hermione had last seen Narcissa, she had been a well-kept woman. Without her haughty and unflattering facial expressions, Hermione might have even called her beautiful at one time.

Narcissa was no longer the stylish, spoiled, and pampered aristocrat's wife. Her dull fingernails were bitten down to the skin where they looked jagged and raw. A silver barrette held her once magnificent hair in a haphazard bun. She was visibly nervous about the events taking place in her home. Fear defined the woman. Hermione could see that Narcissa was completely overcome by it, and the entire family appeared desperate. Draco was barely speaking, and Lucius Malfoy looked uncouth and just as deranged as his sister-in-law.

Hermione watched helplessly as Ron and Harry were taken away from her, and Bellatrix was pulling her to the ground by her neck. Their captors had discovered her identity, so she braced herself for torture. She heard the vile woman cast the Cruciatus Curse, and she screamed before it even hit her. The depraved curse silenced the scream as it paralyzed her with pain. She could barely breath, so the only sound that she could produce was a guttural groan. Like a shaken rag doll, her body uncontrollably thrashed about, and her limbs were repeatedly thrown against the cold floor. She began screaming again when the curse was lifted, but it left her too weak to struggle when Bellatrix knelt over her and carved into her ivory skin with a knife.

Hermione refused to answer Bellatrix's questions truthfully, so her torment continued. She began to feel dizzy, and she must have lost track of time because the Death Eaters were suddenly fetching Griphook and leaving her bleeding on the hearth.

Narcissa was only a few steps away, and the Death Eaters were temporarily distracted. If Hermione wanted to influence the frightened woman, she needed to act immediately.

She rolled onto her side and slowly raised herself from the floor. Her trembling legs could not support her full weight, but she clutched at the wall as she stumbled closer to Narcissa.

Summoning her confidence, she spoke in a voice that was quiet and firm, "You have a lovely home, Mrs. Malfoy."

Narcissa looked at Hermione as if she wasn't sure that the girl had really just dared to speak to her. "What did you just say to me, Mudblood?" She used the derogatory term without conviction.

Unaffected by Narcissa's insult, Hermione answered, "I'm complimenting you on your home. I visited a friend here about three months ago. I only saw his room, but there was a lovely painting of the house hanging over the bed."

Narcissa looked scandalized. "How do you know that?"

There was only one painting of Malfoy Manor hanging in the house, and it was in the Dark Lord's room. As a Slytherin, Narcissa would never admit that information to Hermione, but the older woman began to doubt.

Hermione was counting on that doubt. If the Malfoys lost respect for their master, then they might be able to tip the scales in the war. They all looked miserable already. A family of such wealth and privilege couldn't possibly live in the gutter for much longer.

Hermione was running out of time. She needed to tell Narcissa as much as possible.

"Your Dark Lord invited me here. We made love in that room . . ." She remembered more of the room's opulent details and continued her description of it. "I was impressed by the vast collection of magical literature lining the walls. The shelves were so tall that they seemed to disappear into an endless shadow as the room was too dark to see how high the ceiling really was. It was all so lovely."

"You lie!" Narcissa was absolutely horrified and failing to hide it.

Hermione smiled mischievously and started to speak in a more goading tone. "You know that I'm not. Does it sicken you to know that your Dark Lord had me on your green, satin, _Pureblood_ sheets? He tells you all not to sully yourselves with the likes of me, but he can do as he pleases?"

"No! You are playing a dangerous game, Miss Granger." Narcissa looked across the room at Bella and added, "If my sister hears you . . ."

Hermione caught herself as she stumbled and exclaimed, "What? What more could she possibly do to me? She's already going to kill me! I have something to tell you, and you must listen! Your lord is a Half-Blood with a vendetta against Muggle-borns only because a Muggle-born girl rejected him when he was still at Hogwarts. It's as simple as that. He is a power-hungry manipulator, and he has lied to all of you! A ghost at Hogwarts, Moaning Myrtle, will confirm it. You need only ask. Think about . . ."

She never got to finish her sentence because Bellatrix noticed her speaking. She screeched, "I didn't tell you to get up, you filth! Get back down."

Narcissa believed Hermione. To her knowledge, there was no way that a Gryffindor could lie that well to her. There was also no way that the girl could have described that room unless she had really been there. The Dark Lord had invited an enemy into her home, and he had let her leave unharmed. She was in shock. A Mudblood the same age as her son had spent the night in that room, and her family had been completely unaware of it. Narcissa was tired of her family being used for the Dark Lord's cause. The danger that they were in made her ill, but she was powerless to stop it. All she could do was wait for an opportunity to break free while her sister and the others caused further mayhem under her roof.

Bellatrix cursed Hermione and she slid down the wall to the floor. Her head began to spin, and it seemed to her like several things were happening at once. She saw Harry and Ron appear in the room. Wands were flying about, and Death Eaters were shouting for someone to summon their master. People were dueling, but she couldn't keep up with everything. She sucked in her breath as Bellatrix ripped her from the floor and held a weapon to her throat. She didn't know if it was the wand or the knife, but its point was painful against her skin.

It took only seconds for Dobby to save her and the other prisoners. She was suddenly kneeling in Ron's arms on the soft beach near Shell Cottage. Her eyes glanced momentarily to Dobby's dead body cradled in Harry's arms, but her thoughts were still set on Narcissa Malfoy as Ron walked her into the cottage.


	12. The End

Getting Through Tomorrow

Chapter 12: The End

Lucius Malfoy's sumptuous robes billowed in the soft breeze as he strode toward a lone figure standing near the placid lake. He had gotten her letter that morning, and he and Narcissa had agreed that he owed it to her to come. She sunset reflected on the lake and silhouetted her womanly form. As he drew closer, he could make out the dark urn cradled in her graceful arms.

She did not acknowledge him at first. Her eyes were closed, and her tear-streaked face appeared rigid as if she might be concentrating on something important. Despite her obvious sorrow, Lucius found her looking healthy and radiant. She wore layers of traditional witches' robes, which he knew wasn't common attire for her. They made her appear more mature and quite lovely. He stood beside her in silence and patiently waited for her attention.

Hermione opened her eyes and looked out onto the lake. She opened the container in her arms and looked into it for a moment before sealing it well. Instead of scattering the ashes across the water, she used her wand to levitate the urn above the calm surface before slowly submerging it into its final resting place.

She smiled weakly and greeted Lucius. "Good evening, Mr. Malfoy."

He handed her a handkerchief and replied, "You look well, Miss Granger."

"Thank you." She turned to him with a fresh face and said, "You and I are the only people I know who were close to Tom Riddle, but that's not why I've asked you to be here. I need your help, Mr. Malfoy."

Lucius raised his eyebrows at Hermione's use of the Dark Lord's name. He, like everyone else, had assumed that she had collected the Dark Lord's ashes for the same reason that she was known for freeing House Elves. Everyone thought that burying him was just her latest misguided cause.

He stood confident, but he still struggled for the right words. "Miss Granger . . . I—I owe you more than one debt. Draco told me that you and your friends saved his life in the Room of Hidden Things. Narcissa admitted to me that a conversation she had with you influenced her decision to lie to the Dark Lord about Potter's death, but she has yet to share the details of that conversation with anyone. As for me, I was only concerned with my family's well being during the battle. I didn't fight for either side. I understand why you spoke in favor of my family during their trials, but I don't understand why you helped me. I was surely not aware of your connection to the Dark Lord."

"I'm sorry. I assumed that you would be more familiar with my situation."

Lucius smirked. "Narcissa is known for her discretion."

Hermione sighed and said, "Of course . . . I'm grateful to her for that. It's just that I'd hoped that I wouldn't need to explain. I came here today to lay Tom's remains to rest, and I thought that it would be the perfect time to have an undisturbed conversation with you about repaying your debt. You see, I spoke in your favor during your trial only because I need something from you in return."

"How Slytherin of you, Miss Granger. This favor won't get me into legal trouble, will it? I can't afford another trial."

"Don't worry. I think that you, as a Pureblood interested in preserving ancient bloodlines, will be more than happy to grant me this favor."

"Very well. I'm listening."

"I'm marrying Ron Weasley in six months, but I told him that I need to visit Australia to help my parents in the meantime."

"Marrying up, Miss Granger? Congratulations to you both, but I don't see . . ."

"Please let me finish, Mr. Malfoy." She took a deep breath and continued, "I need you to send someone to find my parents while I stay hidden in your home. I'm in no condition to travel."

He took a closer look at her and nodded in partial understanding.

She explained, "I've been keeping this secret for too long already, and I won't be able to hide it much longer. I want to give birth to my child in your home, and I want him to stay there as he will be the last Heir of Slytherin."

There it was. Her big reveal. She anxiously awaited Lucius' response.

At his prolonged silence, she continued, "Please, Mr. Malfoy, will you take him? No one can know about my involvement with Tom. You and Narcissa are the only ones that I've told. If you adopt my child, you can tell Draco, of course."

To say that Lucius was in shock would be a gross understatement. "The Dark Lord is your child's father? What about Mr. Weasley?"

"What about him? I've told you that nobody knows. Ron must not know either."

A look of horror crept over Lucius' face and he whispered, "Surely you weren't with child the night Bella tortured you?"

Hermione protectively folded her hands over her abdomen and said, "Yes, I was. There are no words to describe how scared I was for my baby's safety during those final days of the war, but I did what I had to do. He's a strong boy . . . like his father."

Lucius watched Hermione rub her belly and smile while looking out across the lake. "You loved him."

"In a way, I did. I definitely wanted him. He was there for me when the boys weren't, and he understood me in ways that they couldn't. He obviously couldn't love me, but I know that he cared as much for me as someone like him was capable of caring. I don't regret anything."

Lucius was in sudden awe of the little witch standing beside him. She was strong, beautiful, and intelligent, but she was also crying again. With the exception of Narcissa and the other women in his family closest to him, crying women usually did not soften his heart, but Hermione's tears were painful for him to see. He could sense her embarrassment with herself due to the fact that she couldn't keep her tears at bay in front of him. Before realizing what he was doing, he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. He felt awkward about doing so as soon as it was done, but he did not remove his hand.

She turned to face him and placed her head on his chest. She whispered, "Thank you for being here."

He stood uncomfortable and rigid for a moment before holding her and gently stroking her hair. He wanted to help her in any way that he could, but he needed more answers.

"Miss Granger, do you have a Dark Mark?"

She quickly pulled away from him and exclaimed, "No! I'm not a traitor! How could you ask me that?"

In a calming voice, Lucius replied, "Calm down, my dear. How could I not ask you that? I only mean to help you. I know a wizard who can remove the scar of the Dark Mark, and I can tell you from experience that you would want it gone if you had one. I'm sure that Mr. Weasley wouldn't approve."

Collecting her composure, she wiped her hands across her face and said, "I don't have one, but thank you." She fixed him with a pleading look and continued, "Understand that I was drawn to his power and intelligence, but I wouldn't leave Harry for him. We actually spent a night together at your house, and then he let me leave. That's difficult to believe, I know, but I'd rather not explain how it started."

They stood in silence for a long moment while Lucius thought.

"Mr. Malfoy?"

"I'd prefer it if you would call me Lucius at this point."

She shrugged and answered, "Okay, but I'm Hermione, not Miss Granger, and I still want to know what you are thinking."

"I cannot turn you away, Hermione. I owe you too much, and I would be honored to call the last Heir of Slytherin my son. I am simply trying to sort out the details in my mind. I also need to speak with Narcissa before we agree on anything specific. This will take time."

"Thank you, Lucius."

"Take a long last look and say goodbye to him, Hermione. I need you to accompany me to Malfoy Manor."

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and breathed, "Goodbye, Tom." Opening her eyes, she took one more glimpse of the sun setting on the lake before turning back to Lucius.

He held out his arms to her, and she felt safety and relief when she stepped into them. The war was over, and it was time for her to start living again.


	13. Epilogue

Getting Through Tomorrow

Epilogue

Nineteen years later . . .

Malfoy Manor sparkled as bright as the crystal winter sky above it while witches and wizards from all over the world arrived in their elegant winter robes. Candles adorned every windowsill, and colored lanterns enhanced the beauty of the luscious gardens. Flowers of every season were magically enhanced to bloom across the manor's extensive grounds. The rococo ballroom would soon be filled with cheerful holiday music and loud conversation as the guests enjoyed a variety of exotic foods and spirits.

Draco Malfoy had started the annual ball at Malfoy Manor seventeen years ago to encourage hope and celebration in the dreary aftermath of the war. In the beginning, it had taken place in early spring, and the Ministry had made a deal with Narcissa Malfoy to hold a fundraiser for war orphans in conjunction with the ball. As several prosperous years passed by in Wizarding Britain, and the orphans grew up to have families of their own, it became time to reorganize the popular ball.

It was Narcissa's youngest son's first year out of Hogwarts, and she had asked him to choose the date of this year's ball. He had chosen Christmas Eve, which was his favorite day of the year. He had also suggested to Narcissa new plans for a fundraiser to help poor families during the holidays. He was an intelligent, loyal, and handsome wizard, and he was also a good man. After being Head Boy at Hogwarts, Thomas had chosen to become an Auror like his childhood hero, Harry Potter. Harry had even agreed to mentor the boy during training.

Thomas Marvolo Malfoy knew his true history. Lucius had told him the story of his biological parents before he had even started school. Telling him had been an unfortunate necessity because Thomas shared more than a name with his biological father. They also looked so much alike that Ginny Potter was never comfortable in his presence. There wasn't anyone in Wizarding Britain who didn't know about Lord Voldemort's successful plot to take the Ministry and the terrible regime that followed.

Only those closest to Harry Potter and Tom Riddle really remembered what Voldemort had looked like as a boy. The Potters and their social circle assumed that Thomas Malfoy was the love child Bellatrix Lestrange and Tom Riddle. It was the only explanation that made sense to any of them. In their minds, Bella was the only woman mad enough to name a child after a mass murderer. If they had ever bothered to look into the matter close enough, they would have discovered that Thomas was born months after the death of Mrs. Lestrange. As the child grew up, most people stopped caring about his uncertain past because it became apparent to them that he was a normal boy.

The details of his convoluted history never bothered young Thomas. His mother, Narcissa, was always teaching him to gracefully accept things that cannot be changed, so he usually did. He was born into a wealthy home to loving parents, and he was grateful for all that he had. His life wasn't perfect, but it was good. His biggest obstacle to overcome was meeting his birth mother, and he knew that he would finally confront her at the ball. He had known for certain that he wanted to meet her by the age of fifteen, but his parents had insisted that he wait until after he finished school. He had stolen glimpses of her in public his whole life, but now he could actually speak privately with her. He knew that she was scheduled to arrive with her husband very soon.

Music and laughter filled the crowded room, and several vapid young women tried to catch Thomas' attention. As he stood surrounded by giggling debutantes, he spotted her with his father, the Minister, and her husband. He politely excused himself and made his way to her.

Hermione was aware of him before he had even taken two steps in her direction, and she excused herself from her company and waited for him. She was always aware of him, and she was staring into his face with wonder as he approached her.

When he saw the way that she looked at him, he smiled. Offering her his hand, he said, "Would you do me the honor of sharing a dance with me, Mrs. Weasley?"

"I'd love to."

As they began to dance, Thomas said, "I've been waiting years for this moment."

She exhaled. "So have I. I've kept track of your accomplishments as much as possible. I'm so proud of you, Thomas, but there's still so much about you I want to know."

He looked serious, and he whispered, "I have a few questions for you, too. For example, I've always wondered if you are ashamed of me."

She placed a hand on his cheek. "No! No, don't ever think that. I love you. I . . ."

He placed his hand over hers and gently removed it from his face. "I know you're an emotional Gryffindor, Mrs. Weasley, but we are in public. People will talk." He was smirking.

She laughed at how much he sounded like a Malfoy. "Of course, I apologize for being so forward. I forget that people would obviously misinterpret my show of affection to you."

"Oh, I don't mind you touching me. I only wish you exercise discretion in doing so. We'll find a more private place to talk soon."

She looked close to tears. "Thank you."

"So, I want you to finish my answering my question, but I can tell that you are going to be emotional about it. Let's continue in my study, shall we?"

As he led her away from the ballroom, she mumbled, "You are so much like your father."

He frowned at her comment, but waited until they were behind closed doors to address it.

He shut the door and turned to her, using a firm voice. "I am nothing like Tom Riddle. I grew up listening to stories of how you, Mr. Weasley, and Mr. Potter defeated that murdering monster. I've looked up to Harry Potter my entire life. Everyone in this house idolizes Severus Snape, and Tom Riddle murdered him, too. He forced my _real_ father and my brother to do unspeakable things in his name, and one of the things I've been burning to know about you is how you could betray your friends by—by sleeping with that man."

Hermione sat down and prepared her long explanation. "Well, I can answer both of your questions in one go, it seems. You've just said it yourself. I desired the wrong man. I betrayed my friends, so how could I claim a son born from my betrayal? I stayed with you for as long as I dared. I gave birth to you in this very house where you were also conceived, and I held you in my arms almost constantly for weeks. I didn't want to let you go, but I knew that you would be better off with the Malfoys. The Malfoys would never judge you. They would never judge me. Some of my reasons for leaving you were selfish, and I know that. I am a coward, and I wouldn't have been able to face my friends had I come home with you. You have to realize that I was also protecting you. Here everyone loves you, but you would have had a much harder life with me. If I had been rejected, then you would have also been rejected. You most certainly would not have two loving parents. You would be the child of a miserable traitor. I couldn't let that happen. As it is now, your origins are a mystery. People accept you for your own accomplishments. Do you understand?"

Her wet eyes were silently pleading with him, and he took her hand and said, "I know. I only wanted to hear it from your lips. I worked out my issues a long time ago, but I needed to speak with you. I needed that last bit of closure."

"I'm glad you came to me, Thomas. I couldn't come to you. It had to be your decision. I know that you don't particularly care for Tom Riddle, but you are the best of him. You only have his good qualities. Remember that. You should be proud to be the last descendent of Salazar Slytherin."

"Yes, well, that's what my father says, too . . . I can talk to snakes." He grinned. "I used to frighten the other children when I was younger."

She laughed with him and looked at him adoringly. "You are such a wonderful, beautiful boy. I'm so proud of you."

"Mrs. Weasley, I know that you are famous, and you have a career and other family to worry about, but I really want you to think about telling the people you trust about me. Now that I'm an adult, it's what I'd prefer for our relationship. It's been almost twenty years, and I think that things have cooled down enough that you would be forgiven. I mean, my father was a Death Eater, but here we are at a ball with the most influential people in the Wizarding World."

Hermione was sobbing freely. She'd been trying to develop the nerve to tell Ron for years. Knowing that her oldest child would support her was a just the push that she needed. "You're right. I'm supposed to be brave, aren't I? My darling boy, I will tell Ron and Harry tonight if that's what you want."

"That is what I want, but I also want you to do it for yourself."

She held his face and kissed his cheek. "I'll do it for us."


End file.
